Spitfire
by K-Y-L-EH-E
Summary: Sherlock is a waiter. He's snarky and uppity. He's a spitfire, and John loves it... As much as he wants to deny it.


Hey guys.

So. Johnlock AU. My /first/ Johnlock ever. I guess we'll see how this turns out. Probably bad. I'm so sorry for any Sherlock fans if I butcher this.

Warnings: Homosexuality, gay sex, fluff.

Also. I am /not/ English. I am American. I will try my hardest to use English terminology, but I'll probably fail at it. I know a jumper is a sweater and pants are underwear and the basics, but not much else. Sorry!

Please enjoy.

K-Y-L-EH-E

Cute.

That was the first word to pop into John Watson's mind as he stared at the waiter. A glance at his nametag told him it was "Sherlock". What an interesting name, cute, just like the man himself.

John's mind suddenly backpedaled. 'I am not gay!' The waiter stared at him, clearly irritated with John's lack of order, as John himself waged a war within his head.

'You thought he was cute!'

'But he can be cute without me being gay, can't he?'

'Maybe he's just feminine.'

'There's absolutely nothing feminine about him.'

"Sir!" The waiter snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. John finally snapped out of his internal war. "If you'd like to order sometime soon, I have other customers to tend to!" John glanced up at the scowling face and winced.

"Uh, yeah, sorry. I'll just have a coffee, black." Sherlock nodded curtly and turned sharply on his heel, walking quickly away to get John's order. Was he allowed to be that rude to customers? Then again, he was wasting the younger man's time, and there were other customers.

It took less than five minutes before a cup was slammed down in front of him, somehow gently and without spilling a drop or even posing risk to the glass cup. In a quietly dangerous tone he said, "I expect the next time you come here, you will order when I come to your table, or you will get nothing at all."

A spitfire, John thought, finding the man's irritation and anger to be quite endearing. He found he liked the way Sherlock's eyes crinkled slightly at the corners of narrowed eyes, the way his beautifully shaped lips pressed together in an obvious attempt to hold his tongue, the way his gorgeous eyes burned with a fire that refused to be put out.

'Not gay!" John's mind oh so rudely cut in, but his feelings and body suggested otherwise. His brain, apparently, did too, because he found himself saying, "Sherlock, would you like to go out for a drink tonight?"

The waiter looked taken aback, eyes wide in shock and mouth forming a pretty "o". Dirty thoughts flooded John's mind at the thought of what Sherlock could do with those sinful lips of his. 'Not. Bloody. Gay.'

"I... I'd love to." A blush formed on Sherlock's face, and his attitude changed from superior and snarky to shy and unsure. Had he never been asked out before? 'This isn't a date!'

"Perfect. Give me your address and I'll be by to get you." He paused for a moment before saying, "Your phone number would probably be helpful, too."

Sherlock pulled a pen from the apron that was tied around his slim waist, and John was almost positive beautiful hips were hidden under his clothes. 'No!' Sherlock wrote his number and address on a napkin he snatched off of John's table.

"221b Baker Street, huh? That's not far from here. What time do you get off?"

"Six." John was amazed at how fast Sherlock went from snide and superior to shy and uncertain right back to snide and superior again. Perhaps he was bipolar? No, they weren't mood swings, John reasoned. They were walls to prevent John from seeing vulnerability.

"Alright, I'll pick you up at seven, then. Give you a bit of time to get ready." John winked at Sherlock, paying for his coffee and leaving a nice tip. He left quickly, not looking back. He didn't need his 'Not gay!' to make him cancel, especially when Sherlock looked so happy to have been asked out.

K-Y-L-EH-E

Six, then seven rolled around faster than Sherlock could comprehend. He was excited, more so than he had been in a long time. John was, in Sherlock's opinion, a very handsome man. He was fit, probably from his background as an army doctor.

For the sake of this... Date, Sherlock had decided to keep his deductions to himself. He did not want to scare John away. John, Sherlock thought, was a name that fit the man so well. Plain and simple but still interesting.

Sherlock looked himself over in the mirror. He had brushed his hair, but it did nothing to tame the mop of curls. His blacks slacks hugged his hips and thighs just right, and12 the dark purple silk shirt was a beautiful contrast to his pale skin. He looked good and he knew he did.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, there's a man here for you!" Mrs. Hudson called up the stairs, and Sherlock checked the time on his phone. Right on time. He rushed down the stairs and was greeted by a smiling John. He couldn't help but smile back.

"Evening. Ready to go?" Sherlock nodded in reply to the question, saying a quick goodbye to Mrs. Hudson before following John out. "Since the bar isn't far from here and it's a nice night, I figured we could walk there. Do you mind?"

"Of course not. Thank you for asking me out. I won't lie, I was quite surprised. Most people tend to find me unapproachable." He could see John frown a bit from the corner of his eye.

"I found you approachable."

"Then you must be odd, John."

"You know... I never told you my name."

"I saw it on your ID when you opened your wallet to pay for your coffee, my dear Watson." He smiled at him and John chuckled with a nod.

They arrived at the bar and walked in. The atmosphere was calm and it rubbed off on Sherlock rather quickly. "Find a seat," he heard John say, "and I'll go get us some drinks." Sherlock nodded, wandering off to a booth in the deepest corner of the bar. Secluded, just the way he liked it.

It didn't take John long at all to find Sherlock, setting what looked like whiskey in front of him. Sherlock gave him a look, and he gave a simple answer. "You seem like the type who enjoys the finer things."

"How right you are." Sherlock took a long drink, humming his appreciation at the smooth burn. "So, mind telling me why you asked me out for drinks?"

"Because you're cute and interesting." Sherlock could practically see the "I didn't mean to say that" running through John's mind. However, he did not take it back like Sherlock thought he would.

"Well, it it's any consolation, I return the sentiment." Sherlock smiled and John returned it. They spent a while in silence, simply enjoying the drinks and each others presence. Neither of the two men were 'light weights', but both had their fair share of alcohol before the decision to leave was made.

"You know, John, I really like you. You're gorgeous and interesting. Smart. Not as smart as me, mind you, but much smarter than all the neanderthals running about London." When Sherlock was drunk, he was considerably loose with his feelings.

"I like you, too, Sherlock. I won't sugarcoat it though. Your place or mine?" Sherlock felt of tingle of pleasure crawl up his spine, and he couldn't help but send a lusty look in John's direction.

"Yours. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson wouldn't appreciate the noise we'll be making tonight." Sherlock almost yelped in surprise when John snatched his hand and began dragging him down the street. They broke into a run, and both men felt the thrill of it all.

It took minutes to reach John's flat, and they were soon in the man's bedroom, tearing at each others clothes in drunken lust. Sherlock pulled the man's horrible jumper off of his body and stopped to admire the muscles. So much power packed into the shorter man.

"I want you, John. I want you to take me." John all but growled in Sherlock's ear as he tugged the slacks away, not bothering with the button or fly. Sherlock gasped, throwing his head back as John gripped him firmly through his pants.

"Beautiful, Sherlock. Look at you." John leaned down, kissing and sucking on Sherlock's pale neck. The latter tilted his had to the side, closing his eyes in bliss. "Have you ever had sex with a man, Sherlock?"

"No." Sherlock pushed John's own trousers down his legs, John kicking them off when they were out of Sherlock's reach. John removed his hand, climbing up to grind his erection against Sherlock's and biting the younger's earlobe, gently tugging.

"Yeah, me neither." John sat back on his calves, between Sherlock's long legs. He gripped the waist band of his pants and tugged them down and throwing them across the room carelessly. He was delighted to find he was not disgusted by Sherlock's naked form, only turned on further by it.

"John, hurry." It wasn't a plea or a question, it was a demand. Who was John to deny Sherlock, for denying Sherlock would be denying himself. He stripped his own boxers, giving his aching arousal a few firm strokes to take the edge off a bit.

Sherlock gave an irritated groan. "John," he warned, squirming to let the man know he was still there. John gave him an apologetic look and moved to his night stand for lube.

"Sherlock, I imagine this is going to be uncomfortable, if not painful. I just need you to try and stay as relaxed as you can." Sherlock bit back a witty reply and nodded, spreading his legs a bit further. The motion went straight to John's erection.

Sherlock winced a bit when a cold finger circled his entrance, an odd, teasing pressure. A few more gentle pushes before the finger slid inside, and Sherlock tensed at the odd sensation. The finger pushed in deep and John groaned at how tight the younger was around just his finger.

"This is... Odd, John..." Sherlock, even when drunk, actually especially when drunk, was never one to keep his thoughts to himself. John kept quiet and began to gently thrust the finger in and out of the tight heat. He crooked his finger slightly and Sherlock's hips bucked off of the bed.

"Jesus Christ, John!" John took the opportunity to pull his finger out to the tip and press another in alongside it. Sherlock's creamy thighs trembled slightly at the onslaught of pain and pleasure as John jabbed his fingers expertly against Sherlock's sweet spot.

Sherlock was a surprisingly vocal lover. Not that John was complaining. Quite the opposite, actually. The noises the brunette made were absolutely, maddeningly beautiful. The cries of his name and breathy gasps from perfectly shaped lips as those sharp hips shifted and pivoted against his fingers.

"John, I'm ready, please!" Well since he asked so nicely... John pulled his fingers out, reaching for the lube. He coated himself liberally, hissing at the cool liquid on his hot erection. He gave himself a few strokes, watching Sherlock squirm, needy, below him.

John gripped the long legs under the knees, pushing them up to nearly touch Sherlock's shoulders. Flexible. They would have to play with that later, John decided. He released on leg, and Sherlock's hand took his place. He used his free hand to steady himself as he pressed against the twitching hole, then slowly began to push his way inside.

Sherlock tensed, squeezing his eyes shut. John stopped and began stroking Sherlock's hips soothingly. "Hey, relax. It'll hurt if you don't relax." It took several minutes for Sherlock to loosen up enough for John to move. He worked his way in, inch by inch.

"Christ, John, do you ever end?" John almost laughed, he would have if he weren't nearly balls deep in the tightest heat he'd ever been in. He could hardly comprehend anything that wasn't Sherlock and Sherlock's body.

"So beautiful," he grunted, pushing in the last inch. He stilled, giving Sherlock time to adjust to his slightly-larger-than-average erection. "You're taking me in so greedily, Sherlock."

"Move, John!" He rolled his hips desperately against John's and he couldn't decide which was more maddening, holding still or moving. When John was still, Sherlock could feel him throbbing deep inside. When he moved, Sherlock could feel the slide of the slick rod, splitting him open repeatedly.

John groaned and pulled out, nearly slamming back in. He barely held back from doing so, gripping the sheets by Sherlock's head. It was all he could do not to let go and ram into the virgin ass.

"John! Oh God! Faster!" John lost it. He rammed into Sherlock, leaning down to roughly bite his neck, leaving a dark bruise in a very visible place. The sound of skin slapping harshly filled the room, along with their quick, laboured breathing.

Sherlock arched sharply, thighs tightening around John's waist. "There! Harder!" Sherlock's moans grew louder as John found his sweet spot again, and John was quick to take advantage of that. It took no time for Sherlock to become an absolute mess, nearly sobbing and crying out and screaming unintelligible things.

"Close!" John was too, he realized. He reached between them, wrapping his hand around Sherlock's leaking arousal. He gave it a few pumps before Sherlock was coming between them, screaming John's name like a prayer.

John lasted only a few more thrusts before he was coming too. He pushed in deep as he released inside of his lover, slumping over the younger to enjoy the afterglow. He stared at Sherlock's beautiful, blissful expression and smiled.

"Will you stay with me, Sherlock? Be mine, move in with me?" John's tone was hopeful, almost like a puppy begging for a treat. There as a long, pregnant pause.

"No. I will not move in with you." John's face immediately fell. "You will move in with me. I couldn't possibly leave Mrs. Hudson." John grinned, wrapping his arms tightly around Sherlock. They relaxed, letting sleep take over.

John Watson, for the first time since returning home from Afghanistan, was perfectly content.


End file.
